


Pocket Detective

by TheCrimsonClub



Category: Line of Duty
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Steve, Depression, Dom/sub, Fear, Fluff, Height difference, Line of Duty - Freeform, M/M, Midlife Crisis, Organized Crime, Plot Twists, Predator/Prey, Reserved Steve, Romance, Slow Burn, Stalker, Thriller, dark themes, discovering sexuality, love hate relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-04-22 23:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19139122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCrimsonClub/pseuds/TheCrimsonClub
Summary: Steve is a lonesome detective, void of companionship apart from one night stands and his best friend Kate Fleming. That is until he embarks on a midlife “crisis” that will have him solving crime and his love life.Then again, appearances are not always reality. (WARNING: DARK THEMES)This fic came from a place of desperation! This fandom needs more works!





	1. Imp Behaviour

**Author's Note:**

> This story occurs after season one, and continues with alternate events.

A mundane mourning followed by some slightly hostile office drama had practically dragged Steve to the local pub, the old reliable Iron Sack. Regardless of what the name suggested there were no virile men with impeccable reproductive organs in the pub, instead a bunch of senile geezers chanting patriotic folk songs as if they had mistaken Birmingham for Middle-earth. The crowd didn’t upset him too much though, since growing up in a rambunctious environment he’d became accustomed to overly extroverted, and potentially violent drunkards. Unfortunately for him social skills and the ability to rip banter from one’s anus skipped him in favour of an obnoxious eye for detail and a leaning towards strict moral codes, which although was useful as an A-12 agent, it hardly helped him socialise with John from the local chippy. Taking a deep breath Steve retained a sense of security in knowing that his stiff upper lip was enough of a deterrent to ward off unwanted attention. He admittedly gained pleasure in admiring how impeccably still he could hold the muscles of his face, offering an unwavering and pretentious look, like disgusted royalty. 

After about fifthteen minutes of muscle memory forcing regretful sips of bitter Corona down his gullet he was beginning to realise his pity party wasn’t helping his shitty self esteem and growing headache. Plus the developing moistness that seeped into his suit only highlighted how uncomfortable the entire day was becoming. Fuck know’s how he was going to make it home if he kept drinking at the speed he was. Naughty ideas of driving home pissed out of his head tempted him, but as usual he dispelled stupid plans in favour for the more vanilla lawful alternative. Leave now and stay sober enough to still bitch about how Kate corrected his tie in front of the entire office along with calling him “Short, like a little policeman imp.”. He didn’t care what the office rumours said, he could have a joke, just one that doesn’t involve emasculating him or requires the intelligence of a twelve year old to find funny. Okay, he saw how the joke may have been funny but in front of the entire office! That's right, everyone laugh at the little cockney shouting orders as if he’s incapable of commanding a room. 

“Just one last gulp, then hometime.” he wined to himself. “You alright mate? You seem a bit tense, you’ve been hunched here for a while. And if looks could kill there would be a massacre.” A slightly brumy baritone voice tapped him on the shoulder. What was attached to the voice? Steve realised spinning around like a feral cat, there was a tall, yet unintimidating, dirty blonde bloke with a toothy grin. Steve could feel the beer he’d had in his mouth erupt through every pipe in his head, leaving a petit stream of liquid pouring in between them both. The man stood attentively, ignoring the fountain in front of him, patting Steve’s shoulder like he was a toddler who’d just came from the naughty step. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Steve stuttered, at what felt like an onslaught of physical contact. He could feel his eyes widen and posture shoot up, probably signaling the opposite of how a mentally sane person would appear. In response the man just chuckled, peering over to see Steve’s empty glass. “Could I get you another one?” He said, staring into Steve’s eyes, avoiding looking at the mixture of cheap beer and mucus that had spattered onto the ground. Steve’s forehead felt as though a radiator was taped to it, of course he’d make a tit of himself at the pub he frequented the most. “Look mate, I was just about to head home.” He replied hopping off the pub stool, re-adjusting his waist coat to retain any ounce of dignity he had left. Without dawdling Steve spun on his heel and strutted toward the exit “Oi Darlin’ I’ve spilled somthin’, I would clean it up but I’ve got to.” He yelled apologetically to the young female bartender, as he slammed the door behind him.

The millisecond Steve hobbled through the entrance of his apartment he could feel his body lighten as every tendon in his body collapsed. “Fuck” He exhaled into the pitch black hallway. Usually darkness like this would have him in cold sweats but he could barely register what had just occurred, let alone fear. Trudging his way to the light switch, and dragging it on, revealed his familiar beige living room littered with a collection of white furniture. Classic wood pieces with a signature marble coffee table represented his kryptonite, perfection. Steve made a habit of waking up roughly around two hours prior to going to work to clean, iron his clothes and eat, and right now he was fucking grateful for it. He couldn’t handle both a headache and a messy house. His dampened coller reminded him of his gross stunt at the pub, the cherry on top of a shitty day. He knew what would solve or at least bandage his soiled pride, a bubble bath and some fucking chardonnay.

Having had popped the cork off a moderately expansive bottle he submerged himself into the gaudy bathtub. The scent of Sainsbury’s radox muscle relaxer seeped into his lungs, the entire affair he was realising was slightly sickening. The wine, boiling temperature water, and an overly strong odour was attractive in movies but tonight he wasn’t feeling the escapism. The daunting reality of his life descions settling in sank his body to the bottom of the tub. He was a 28 year old who was still ashamedly scared of the dark, he hadn’t had sex in three months and he projectile nose vomited from the slightest physical contact. To avert his increasingly pessimistic mind he smoothed his hands through his hair and began deciphering why he was so nervous earlier. Was it the overbearing chanting and roughhousing going on in the pub? Probably not, he thought, since he didn’t usually concern himself with others once he'd selected a corner to bubble himself in. Maybe it was the bloke that tapped his shoulder? Jesus Christ, he sighed with a complementary facepalm. He understood that he was bisexual from his teenage years, promptly after reciveing his first blow job after a shoddy internship by an overzealous blonde guy with hoop earrings, but it had been a decade since he’d done anything sexual with a man. His sexual partners for the past ten years consisted of moderately attractive women, who were slightly too stiff in bed, but he really was in no position to complain. 

But then he reconsiders the man from the pub, that rough dirty blonde hair, the 5 o’clock shadow, and Jesus Christ his height. Oh, it was all coming back to him. He couldn’t help his groin from squirming at his guilty pleasure… a taller man that could roughhouse him and use his body in ungodly ways. His mouth watered, mixing with the aftertaste of Chardonnay, at the prospect of being dominated. “Urgh” he grunted, nudging the running tap to a stand still. It was too late at night to be indulging in deviant fantasies, regardless of how tantalising they appeared. He had work early tomorrow and there was a truck load of work to process since a giant case had reared its ugly head. To avoid a panic attack due to any more stress he downed the remnants of his glass. He was going to sleep, and for fucks sake he wasn’t going to cry.


	2. Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Katie bond, and Steve has a boner for Justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading chapter 1! I’ve had a lot of fun exploring Steve’s character and hope you enjoy reading it.

Steve woke up for his morning chores with a vengeance, done a number in on his molars chewing his toast, and tutted approximately twelve times at minor inconveniences during traffic. But now he was finally at work, he was ready to do what he did best, expose some bent coppers. Of course despite his resurgence of energy the beginning of the working day was slow. Formalities such as morning admin chained him down like a rottweiler with a taste for justice.

The drumming of Steve’s keyboard erupted the room into hushed whispers filled with, what Steve perceived as jealous comments about his work ethic. When in reality it was a series of “what a twat” and a number of other profanities. Frankly it was bizarre for anyone to actually perform their duties with efficient timing, and he was disturbing their established routine of doing the bare minimum. And like the Calvary called to arms Kate swooped to Steve's right hand side, with a devious smirk and two large delicious Mochas. “Hello!” She cheered, swinging her hips, hitting the preoccupied man. In return Steve greeted her with a slurred “Hello”, barley averting his eyes from the computer monitor. “ I got you a coffee! A Mocha, no idea how to pronounce it. It’s the chocolatey one, practically hot chocolate.” She said prying for attention like a lonesome puppy. Again, he replied with an inaudible grunt of confirmation. After what felt like a minute of thudding coming from Steve's rapid typing she scoffed in disgust. “ Alright you git, don’t thank me or anything.” Steve chucked and smiled at her, showing his ultimate weapon, his irregular right dimple. “You’re an arsehole, you know that?” Steve nodded like a boy accepting a handful of sweets. “ So, you’re a Mr Busy Body today aren’t you?” She said covering his desk with her abdomen, leaning within a inch from the screen. “Yeah, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t hover over my desk, thank you.” Recovering from the intrusive position she continued her investigation. “ It’s five minutes till lunch, wanna leave now and have a chinwag?” She said in an accent mimicking Downton Abbey. Steve huffed, realising there was no way of escaping Katie’s demands once she got that lunatic look in her eye.

The canteen was especially barren that day, only accentuating the concrete structure that caged them in the job that regularity ached Steve's brain. On the topic of cages, as the two sat to begin chatting and the subject of Steve’s love life arose Steve resembled a plump little robin ready to be ravaged by Kate, the bird of prey. She self admittedly took great sadistic pleasure in laughing at his sexual mishaps, while of course offering a healthily dose of “advise”. “Spill the beans. A little bird has told me that they saw you at the Iron Sac last night. Why wasn’t I invited?” She challenged, linking her fingers together on the table and smirking at Steve. “Just a drink, recon’ed I needed a pint after work.”  
“I could have sworn I invited you and you declined, but sure.” She half heartedly laughed. It was true, she did offer Steve a trip to the pub after work yesterday. But in a blind bitter state he often retreated to solitude to mope in dramatic melancholy. Steve’s shoulders hunched involuntarily, the weight that he was a pretty shitty friend was materialising. “Well, if you change your mind again about going out, shoot me a message. “ A reassuring smile stretched her face into a comically positive caricature, Steve knew that if they weren’t such great friends he could fall for her doe eyes and dark eyelashes. Although he may not admit it often enough, he appreciated her support, without it he might just succumb to his introversion. “Yeah, I will do.”

Steve inhaled deeply as he sipped on the creamy Mocha Kate brought him, that surprisingly after a long conversation hadn’t become tepid. His body yearned for tranquility as the once quiet cafeteria began to rustle with coworkers leaving to begin their next shifts. “ Shit” muttered Katie as she suddenly began rummaging inside her handbag, throwing it into the centre of the table for easier access. “Steve I completely forgot! We need to interview some kid on house arrest. Shit!” Her face contoured in panic as her arm haphazardly wondered insider her bag. She was undoubtedly searching for her pocket book documenting the time and address of the interview. Steve giggled despite his best interest, crossing his legs in an act of arrogance. He stared down the deranged woman, eventually clearing his throat. “Cough, cough” He yelled fighting the desire to burst into tears. “What, what?” She grunted with her bag at a 230 degree angle. He pointed at her breast pocket “Your pocket book.”

The duo entered the miniature cul de sac with an air of hesitation. Kate, from behind the wheel, appeared very conscious of the street beside her. She peered around, due to the area being infamous for drug busts for any suspicious activity. A moment of silence passed. Nothing. Instead of bands of delinquents the pair were greeted to overgrown lawn grass; abandoned children’s toys, a battered bike and a completely dead street. Picturesque, if you were a photographer looking for a depressing canvas. “Door three” She directed, promptly unbuckling her seatbelt. Steve nodded with his sight transfixed on a page of Kate’s pocket book. During the journey Steve was catching up on the details of the interviewee, and more importantly what information needed to be extracted. From what he gathered this was the kid briefly mentioned during mourning admin. A fresh lead who promises they have information regarding a corrupt higher up. Apparently he has been fed a series of instructions from this mysterious figure, mainly menial tasks such as transporting burner phones and numerous contraband. And in a trick of grand luck he was busted and detained by a patrol officer. And like a rodent under strict confinement he cracked, cried in fact. And in between hysterical bawls he handed over information linking him to a much more serious crime syndicate, involving some extremely devious bent coppers. He’s been placed under house arrest to prevent him scuttling away to the closest crack den and offing himself, for without a doubt… if he’s seen by his cohorts he’ll be found dead in a nearby dump.

The pair encroached the property. “Door three…” Steve exhaled. After hopping over the agape wooden gate and traversing the battered walkway. Steve was surrounded by an aura of unwelcomeness. With a hint of precaution Kate knocked on the door, slightly too aggressive for Steve’s liking. “Wait!” He said shuffling with the bottom of his white button-up, ensuring it was tucked enough to restrict his airflow. Interrupting Kate’s eye roll at Steve’s attempt to appear formal was a pitched yell to “Come in”. Kate swung open the door and walked in, leaving Steve to revel in the odour of wet dog and cigarettes emitting from the entrance. Ignoring his headache he walked inside the house, stopping at the living room door frame.

Inside the room she was quietly pacing in circles, apparently waiting for a conversation between the kid and a sharply dressed man to end. After a reserved nod of introduction Steve observed the man. A Grey suit adorned the him, it was exquisitely corporate with an ashy pattern, although it slight oversized he had to note. The pair were conversing over a yellow clothed circular table, the suited man's elbows invaded the majority of the table leaving the smaller teenager retreating on the back of his chair. Despite the man’s initial ownership of the space his open body language seemed to come from a feeling of relaxation, not aggression. Only taunting Steve’s mind to race into to profiling the mysterious man… “Oh, you have guests?” Boomed the suited man apologetically,” No worry, I won't take up anymore of your time, our session is just rounding off.” He continued turning his head towards Steve and Kate. Steve could feel his brow stiffen in rejection of what he was seeing. It was the man who had approached him from The Iron Sac. Surprising the other man’s eyes lit up with a playful joy “Hey, I saw you last night. You look different in your suit. Like an AC12 pocket detective.” He laughed with a warm hue that softened his masculine facial features. Steve attempted to conceal his annoyance at the remark, instead violently flipping the cover of Katie innocent pocket book. “You get it right? Pocket sized? Your height…” The man’s enthusiasm quickly drained from his face as seconds passed without shared laughter in the room. Steve reluctantly choked on a flutter arising from his gut. That face. He was left silenced. As silence enraptured the room Steve shot a signal glare at Kate, a preplanned communication translating to _Save me from this fucking awkward situation!_

Kate stepped into the depth of the room, freeing them from their unspoken truce of stillness. “So, who are you? Some kind of law enforcement? I see you’re familiar with my associate and I’s regiment?” She said with a double natured smile, its kindness sharpened by her piercing eyes transforming it into a interrogative weapon. “Oh yeah, I’ve been briefed regarding the entire situation. I’m Jack’s councillor, he is entitled to additional support as I should assume you two are aware… because he is a minor.” The long winded introduction left him flustered, “My name is Richard. But you can call me Richie” He said smirking. Steve couldn’t help but feel the man’s supple gaze rest over him, it commanded an uncomfortably endulgent to shiver down his back. Richie winked at him, his lashes concealing the light blue eyes he couldn’t help but memorise. Looking at the room Steve realised that was subconsciously backing into the corner of the room, and covering his body by crossing of the arms. Seeing how pathetic he was becoming in his presence, infuriated him. Steve was renowned for his cut-throat integrations and relentless bravery, and he wasn’t ready to surrender. “You’re going to have to leave now. We need a private consultation with… Jack.” Steve proclaimed rejoining the room, stiffening his posture in confidence despite almost forgetting the suspects name. As his words entered the space he could feel how bitter cold they were, yet he refused to melt into the sympathy inside him.

“Okay,” Richie said sweetly, ignorant of Steve’s bitterness. Swiftly collecting his leather satchel he made his way to the front door, stopping to shake the detectives hands. Steve’s skin quivered at the sight of Richie’s hand engulfing his own, shaking him to his core firm and directly. “I’ll be seeing you.” Richie all but whispered into his ear, calling his hairs to attention. Steve stepped back, gently freeing himself from the man’s gravity. “Goodbye.” He hollered , offering a wave to the teen as he closed the door behind him. With the parting gift of a loud thud the three were then left alone in the room, the warm atmosphere dying along with sunny Richie’s exit. And like a victim of the cold vacuum Steve’s coy nature evaporated. This room was now his for all he was concerned and he would perform his duty, and rinse the informant for everything they’re worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect regular updates. I’m here for the long hall!


	3. Hot Collar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve feels as though he is becoming consumed by a relentless amount of life’s bullshit.

Steve shook his collar in frustration, his skin yearned for a release from the enraging heat within his shirt. He was diligent in containing his anger within his cool exterior when inside of the house, but as the crisp air of the cul de sac hit him he became undone. Attempting to maintain an objective front over the delinquent became increasingly difficult as he repeatedly refused to withdraw the identity of the bent copper Steve so desperately wanted to trap. He could feel his heart leap and kick more and more as the boy exclaimed _I never met him_ over and over again. Obviously the tracksuit wearing culprit proclaimed his innocence, despite the minor offence of delivering packaged goods. Because of course he wasn't aware of their illegal contents. It was as though his body refused to digest the bile of bullshit flowing from the teen’s mouth, so much that his legs carried him away. The weight that had accumulated over the past months built into a crushing heap. Work, family, his love life, maintaining it all to a respectful degree left him and his mind frazzled. His head was begging to feel light and his balance weak. Gripping the chilly metal railing, he desperately tried to regain control of his senses.

After promptly ending the interview due to Steve's premature exit Kate thanked Jack for his cooperation and sped to meet her flustered partner outside. Immediately, as the vulnerable Steve came into view the annoyed expression on her face dropped to one of concern. His chest was rising and dropping under his shirt, and his knuckles glowed a stark white against the steel railing. His face was noticeably moist, with a faint bead of sweat dragging down his plump cheek. “Steve, are you okay?” She rushed to his side, hesitating to touch the often reserved man. He sighed, becoming conscious of his friend’s inevitable worry made his body freeze. Witnessing the infamously guarded Steve crumbling before her eyes both mystified and hurt her. “I’m fine. It’s, It’s just…” he refused to meet her tender gaze, instead he looked away with his head drooping. Steve could feel the heat that dwelled in his chest rise up and clasp his cheeks, tainting them in a rouge he wanted desperately to hide. The feeling of her judgement scanning the pathetic signs of his emotions, regardless of its intentions, made him want to disappear. So he looked up, wiped his brow, and walked towards the car. She stood still, observing him in confusion, eventually shaking her head as he erratically fumbled with the handle of the car door. “Steve.” She said, her voice echoing into the grey void of concertante and clouds around them. The thudding of the car handle erupted as he looked behind him. “Can you unlock the door please!” He said, baring his teeth and spitting. It was a vicious sight that Kate had never seen directed at her before, only during the pursuit of Tommy and Tony Gates when the case of they’re career had almost fallen apart when Tommy wasn’t confessing. Their eyes met, she could see a glimmer of desperation in his eyes, one that signalled to her a more serious issue behind his outburst. Taking a deep breath she promptly fished the key out of her blazer pocket, hesitating before clicking the door to unlock.

He recoiled into the car and directed his attention to the street in front of him. He did so for the majority of the journey back to the office, with Kate politely respecting his unspoken request for harrowing silence. That was however until her uncontrollable desire to resolve her friend took over her. “Steve… what’s the matter mate? You’re acting like a crazy person?” She began, regrettably laughing still unsure of how Steve would react. The traffic light ahead was red, muzzling the rumble of the car engine to a hum. Steve squirmed under the silence, he’d honestly been collecting his thoughts, deliberating snippets of Jack’s interview and trying desperately to find answers. But the combination of Kate’s anticipating eyes and the lack of sound magnified him, the light of her sights torturing his thoughts to the surface.

“It’s nothing, really. He just really pissed me off. I know he’s lying!” He stopped, resting back on the seat he involuntary jerked from during his rant. He didn’t apologize for his earlier outburst, he didn’t need to, his coy nature spoke all the regret he could possibly vocalise. It was times like this, when Steve was at his most vulnerable. With all the professional layers stripped from him; the suit, the tie, the frigid persona, that she could see her son in him. They shared the same youthful small bodied frame, with a temper that often exceeded their height, which made it all the more easier for her to forgive him. “And if he’s telling the truth and doesn’t know the man’s name, then he’s still irritating.” He continued, chuckling as he twiddled his thumbs. She laughed with him, despite the corner of her mind prying her to discover the truth behind his glistening eyes. “I mean, H for an alias is like… overly ominous.” He said, finally granting her eye contact. The dreaded mood within the car had undoubtedly lifted, along with Steve’s sulky posture. “Hmm…” She hummed to herself, processing her thoughts with squinted eyes and a tapping of the steering wheel. “I reckon he’s tellin’ the truth. With a couple lies sprinkled in to cover his own arse, of course.” Steve nodded in agreement, having to hush the cynical devil on his shoulder screaming obscenities about Jack’s bullshit statement.

“Here,” He said as he chucked her pocket book in her general direction. “Your book.” He snarked, laughing at the dismal sound of the book colliding into an impossibly hard to reach crevice of the car. “Oi, you shit you’re getting that out!”. “I’m not” he said crossing his arms, with his head rolling to his side in amusement. “I nearly broke the thing when talking to that Richard, or Richie was it? Whatever, he really got on my nerves.” That was a lie, he knew his name , it was etched into his mind. He was afraid if he didn’t have the book in his hands his fingers would have burrowed into his flesh. In fact, the first utterance of his name escaping his lips, he wished wouldn’t be the last. “You’d be paying for a new one, I’ll guarantee you that.” Gentle tapping of raindrops began decorating the windshield, urging Kate to slap the wind wipers into action. “Hmm yeah Richie… he was alright look’in. He definitely had a thing for you.” She growled deviously, Steve didn’t need to see her face to know it was full of wicked glee. He playfully nudged the side of her arm, failing to stop the electric tingle in his cheeks from making him smile. “Hey, I’m driving! Don’t tell me you didn’t see that elongated handshake? Oh my god, and that cheeky wink?” The sinful grin that plastered her face signalled to him that she was deriving far too much pleasure in teasing him. Was she serious? He questioned, making sure he wasn’t just confirming his dirty hopes without a grounding in reality. “Shut up would you!” He laughed to himself. Crossing his arms he shook his head in disbelief that he was so easily letting go of his inhibitions. It was undiscovered territory, but he liked the feeling. “Oh please, he was dying for you.” she calmly turned a corner. “... Plus a little manhandling from a man like that could do a world of good for you.” She slithered in, staring into his face and cackling like a mad woman. “Too far!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! All comments and kudos are greatly appreciated, come back soon for the next chapter.


	4. The Clansman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an attempt to find some relief with his best friend Kate Steve finds a different kind of sensation. And he’s spellbound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is when the darker themes of the fic arrive. STRAP IN EVERYONE!

The Clansman was a world away from The Iron Sac in terms of pub etiquette. It’s surfaces were varnished, the regulars were spatially aware and polite, and the faint chorus of classical music in the background gave him nostalgia of his younger years. In summary Steve found the place a great escape from his regular routine, something he didn’t break from often. The concoction of guilt and tiredness that had pooled in his stomach had started to break up now that he was seated and chatting to Kate. The two had sped to The Clansman after their exceedingly stressful interview with Jack, after a determined speech from Steve refusing to revisit the The Iron Sac due to his projectile sneeze of Corona all over their flooring. Observing the daylight lit interior of the pub, with the rustic wooden entrance left open to expose the tranquil Birmingham canals, left Steve with a satisfied smile.

Encouraged by the entourage of patronts sipping and clinking their glasses over aesthetically pleasing dishes Steve searched for the menu. “Fancy anything to eat? It’s fancy in here.” He said, acknowledging his growing hunger for Shepherd's pie. “Ermm, not really. I need to cook for the family later anyways.” She replied, with her face hinting of temptation. Steve's eyes widened as he lifted the leather coated menu and began reading the prices of the food and drinks, they were extortionate. “Nope, that’s daylight robbery,” He said slapping the menu on the table, almost gaining the attention of the tables around them. Kate burst into laughter knowing instantly that the pub wasn't taking a coin from Steve and his reluctance to spend more than a fiver on a meal. “I am not paying fifteen pounds for a meal. It’s not happening.” Remaining true to his mantra of not wasting money on extravagant food was what had gotten him through university, and the habit now gave him the luxury of coining the extra money into his alcohol expenses. “I’ll have a drink though.” He exhaled, fumbling with the rim of the table and staring at Kate. She sat in front of him, unassuming and distracted by the canal. He coughed intently to get her attention, greeting her gaze with a puppy dog eyes. “Huh?”. “I’ll have a drink.” He repeated, tossing the money on table, offering her a pathetic pout. “You lazy git, you’re lucky I don’t know what drink I’m having yet.” She said collecting is change and walking towards the counter, running back to the tale once more to smack his arm. “Thank you!” He shouted across the room as she reached the counter, yelling again for a Thatchers cider.

With Kate now out of sight Steve rolled back into the cushioned mature leather seat, and let the disks in his back dislodge in a blinding ecstasy. Despite it’s shitty beginning, this evening was going to be one of pure self indulgence. He let his lids drop, closing him off his surroundings and transporting him to lulling darkness. He sat there and revelled in the ambiance of the subtle beginnings of Antonio Vivaldi’s Winter. The weight that had previously weighed his mind to burst slowly disintegrated the longer he drifted from the room.

“Did you come here alone, Mr pocket detective?” A familiar voice questioned, as the Settee shifted below him. Steve opened his eyes, quickly shooting a look at the intruder. Upon opening his eyes his view was foggy, but it didn’t take a while till his nerves shot to attention. It was Richard. He was making himself comfortable, eventually lounging with his leg tossed over the other and his arm locked around the back of the Sofa. Steve couldn’t hide his surprise, the slight panic creeping up his throat wouldn’t let him. “Oh, no. I’m here with my friend.” He choked, surprised that he formed a cohesive sentence. Richard’s eyes, accented by a kind curve and genuine smile, were fixated on him. The slender man, with his casually fitted grey suit mimicked an aristocratic painting, with his ruggedly handsome face all he needed was a pipe to complete the picture. Although intimidated Steve perceived his intentions as friendly. So he shuffled into the corner of the seat before placing on his I’m not socially inept face. Plus, despite how much he would deny it, the racing in his chest wasn't purely from surprise. “Shame, I was hoping to buy you a meal.” He said hunching towards him, becoming ever closer. Steve didn’t reply, he couldn’t. Why was this man so zealous for his attention? Should he tell him that he's not interested? Because he wasn't, at least that’s what the voices on his shoulder told him.

Trying to not come across as a complete arsehole he made an inaudible, what could be described as, hum in an attempt to appease the man. “How did the interview go, swiftly I guess, given your reputation?” He watched Steve with an unwavering hunger for eye contact. He squirmed in his skin, from this position Steve could yet again admire the man’s distinctive eyes, now dark from the shade of his lashes. “The opposite actually, he was a pain in the arse.” He said, his throat twitched wishing he had a drink to wash out the bitterness. As the words hung in the air they soon rotted to an alarming stench. Steve wanted to flail about and cram every word he said back into his stupid gob. Did he really just hand out private information about the man’s own client on a silver platter? Surely Richard’s best interests lay behind the teen who ran circles around him in the interview, not in gossiping about him to an investigator. “You are funny,” he leaned forward into a deep laugh, one that Steve assumed would grab the attention of the women nearby “A tad interpersonal for your line of work, but… I like it.”

Interpersonal? The word hit like a punch in the gut, or more like a slap in the face. It was rather the opposite of how he would describe himself and how he conducted his work. Interpersonal, the word repeated itself in his mind and he couldn’t help but scoff out loud. “Could an interpersonal person organise and operate an entire anti terror squad on multiple raids? I don’t think so.” Steve challenged with a raised brow, and an unquenchable desire to ring the man's neck in. To accredit himself he did more than lead the team, he saw through his corrupt colleagues when their malpractice ran rampant at the price of an innocent man’s life. And even under immense threat by a leader of the department he refused to bend under the pressure; he saw what was important, and stood his day in court to testify his truth. It was why he was made for anti corruption.

Richard nodded, “Quite right. You’re passionate, determined, intelligent… all in a tight compact parcel. It’s adorable.” The words to Steve’s ears felt adorning, but he sensed there was a hunger brewing in Richard; one that saw him as a delectable meal. The blush on his cheeks was creeping in, being unable to hide it made him feel naked.

And given the opportunity for reflection Steve realised something. _Given your reputation_ , he failed to notice it earlier but Richard had definitely said it. He felt a sickly feeling simmering inside of him with the worry of what Richard had over him, and what his actions had snowballed into in order to create such a reputation. How well did this Richard know him? And what were the chances that he had just happened to arrive at the same pub as him in within the entirety of Birmingham? Steve resented the situation. His palms where dampening and he couldn’t help but fidget with his cuffs. He timidly turned away from Richard, looking for Kate who had taken a while to return. Hopefully her presence would act as a repellent for him, if it wasn't herself that would dispel the man, her banter surely would.

Steve’s brow furrowed as a palm cupped his jaw and guided his head to face the man who now had his arm wrapped around his shoulder. Warm and firm, Richard had him locked into his embrace. “I like your face.” He breathed into his shirt collar, the feeling of the other man’s heat against him left Steve enraptured. He clenched his fist, an instinctual reaction to punch Richard claimed him, but quickly dissolved as their chests grazed each other. Their faces were mere inches apart. And for a second Steve wanted to succumb to Richard’s touch, have him carry him into a world of deviance. A distant smash of a glass filtered the smokescreen of the man's alluring face and domineering fisque that clouded Steve’s vision, allowing the room around them to come into focus. Immediately, Richard unhinged his arm and freed Steve from his grasp. Pulled a crinkled receipt from his pocket and began to flatten it on the table. “You got a pen?” He said smiling up at Steve from his hunched position with all the excitement of a nervous boy.

Steve was bewildered, sacred yet in complete awe of his innocent smile after such an aggressive come on. He, without a word and despite his greater judgement, fished a spare pen from his pocket and handed it to him. “Thank you” The man continued, cheerfully writing a flurry of numbers he could only assume was his phone number. He looked up from his writing, winked at Steve, and swiftly left, dogging tables before vanishing from behind the entrance.

“Sorry for the wait, just needed the toilet.” Kate exhaled trudging up to the table, struggling to place down the two pints she had been balancing. The pints came down with a thud, the liquids flashing over the counter. “Shit” She looked to Steve in frustration and apologized. Steve on the other hand was frazzled, it was only when Kate had reached her seat he regained his consciousness. And unbeknownst to him his mouth was agape, his lips increasingly drying under the hypnotic state. He licked them, they felt tender despite never having been touched by Richard. A phantom of his presence lingered over him, forcing him to readjust his shirt and slick his hair, hoping to dispel his presence. Reaching for his drink he observed the slowly growing puddle, his mind preoccupied by the wastefulness of the spill, it was a distraction from Richard. “What are you writing? Any thoughts on the interview?” She said, nodding in interest at the scrap receipt on the table. Shit. He had forgotten to pick up the note he had left on the table, probably detailing his depravity. A scarlet letter, a gross doodle, or maybe just a plain number, he wouldn’t let the embarrassment of any of these possibilities give Kate more ammunition then she already had to tease him with. As she slowly reached for the note he imagined her polishing her armoury of insults, his fear of the dark, his horrendous one night stands, and now a fling with a counsellor. So with a wind of refusal he launched over the table, and tugged the paper in her gentle grasp. But she gripped it tighter, pulling back in reluctance. His chest thumped like a rabbit “Can you let go.” He quietly growled, ashamed at how childish the entire affair was. In a desperate attempt to claim the note he snatched harder, tearing off the majority of it into his palm. She moved back into her seat, a comically shocked expression on her face. “Jesus, what is with you?” She laughed, as he stashed the paper into his trouser pocket. “You are not yourself lately, huh?” Her words echoed in his head, she was right. He was practically panting, and for what? The mobile number of some touchy feely creep. He didn’t know what he needed, but his solution probably consisted of copious amounts of alcohol and or a holiday to Benidorm.

A conspicuous silence held the two as she inspected the torn paper, stretching it out in front of her. The scene hauntedly reminded him of how he would display devastating evidence in front of a suspect during an interview. But now the predator had become the pray, and he was about to get slaughtered. He pinched himself for not tackling her to the ground for the torn corner. Because of course it would be his luck that the egregious something to stain reputation would be birthed from the smallest smidgen of paper. He knew his fate was sealed when a deep sinister grin carved her face, and she read the note aloud “My pocket detective xoxo”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank to everyone who is reading this fic. It means a lot to me that people can withstand my insane ramblings.


	5. Somebody’s Watching Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wakes from a blood curdling nightmare with a craving for tea, among other treats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you guys enjoy Steve’s antics, this chapter in particular is a spooky one.  
> I was trying to have the text conversation in italics but the Rich Text formatting was having a breakdown, so I had to manually type in some of the code for this format and it gave me an aneurism. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Plus big thanks to AdrianaCrazyWolf for helping me near the end of this chapter, dialogue is the bane of my existence.

Steve rocked drearily under the pressure of his duvet. It’s clutch, relentlessly breathing hot air onto his dripping skin made him want to scream. He had been hopelessly staring at the ceiling for what felt like an eternity. The familiar scene of his bedroom, locked in the pale blue light of his nightlight, was slowly calming him from his abrupt awakening. It was a nightmare, he strictly repeated to himself in a condescending tone.

In sleep he had envisioned himself; lying where he was now, peaceful and relaxed. Until the harsh sound of rustling bushes erupted from outside his bedroom window. His nightlight extinguished, leaving him in complete darkness apart from the dying luminance from moon that crept through the curtains. He tried to move, jolted and kicked but he couldn’t move a limb. Against his will he was frozen inside of his bed, heart thumping and fingers clenched, forced to watch the window. The noise reappeared, this time closer and accompanied by the sound of footsteps. Promptly moving closer towards the window pane the ruckus then came to an abrupt halt.

His eyes pried open, his breath hollow and rapid, he was desperate to be as quiet as possible. He could feel someone standing from behind the curtain, staring at him, waiting. A subtle tap pierced the silence of the room, making his heart climb to his throat. The curtain, guided by a mysterious force, slowly began to part. With the screeching of metal hooks the curtains dragged open; revealing a hideous man.

Now that he was free from the illogical realm of his dreams, he wondered if who he saw was even human. The figure had scarred itself into his psyche, he could still see it in the corner of his mind perfectly. Firstly he saw it’s calloused palm, pressed against the glass with hideously long nails that came to a pinpoint. It’s body was skinny; toned with signs of malnutrition. Matted tufts of dim blonde hair separated it’s dark grey skin, it was filthy. It looked less like a man and more like a deformed imitation of one, like a foetus that had been stolen and raised by beasts.

It’s stark yellow eyes burrowed themselves into Steve’s memory, he couldn’t forget their glowing light in the dark. They were hungry, yearning to be let in through the window. Breathless desperation forged into him as the creature panted and salivated, still resting against the glass.

Now the creature was gone, and his nightlight perfectly expelling the creatures of the night. He had no excuse to not go back to sleep, since he had work early the next day. But something felt wrong. Like there was somebody watching him, waiting for him to become vulnerable. Waiting for the chance to spring on him and ravage his soft and squishy organs.

The imagery of his mangled corpse forced him from his sleepy state. Sitting up, he thought for an excuse to leave his bedroom, and discovered he was becoming quite thirsty. So he trudged to the door, sped down the stairs and went into his kitchen. Once he slammed the kitchen light on he could breathe again, seeing his pristine domain of domestic bliss in perfect lighting made him feel safe.

After admiring the cleanliness of his surfaces he jumped onto the kitchen counter, next to the kettle, and began preparing a cup of tea. Fumbling around the cupboards looking for sugar he happened across his phone that he’d abandoned on top of the microwave. He made it a habit to conceal the phone from himself before bed, as to not distract his so-far successful sleeping schedule.

But in lifting the phone he caused an instant wave of regret to wash over him. He had forgotten it, but there it was, Richard’s number plastered on the creased receipt. He’d placed it under his phone in a blind rush, still unsure whether he was going to keep it or chuck it into the trash where it belonged. He should have disposed of it when he was more awake, and had more sense. Because looking at it now, freshly peeled from the realm of dreams, it was whispering to him a world of possibilities. The promises were too strong, he would be denying himself of an experience if he didn’t at least text the man. He would take a chance. Anyways, a failed relationship wouldn’t affect him like it would have in the past, he was an adult now.

Peering over to the kitchen clock he saw the time was quickly approaching 3am, the morbid sight brought the events of yesterday barreling back into his mind. After Kate discovered the note he was forced into begrudgingly confessing to her his encounter with Richard, making sure to leave out the full on embrace. She, of course, was ecstatic and encouraged him to call the man immediately. Continuing to prod and tease before having to leave to cook for her family.

She had constantly lectured him about letting go, having more fun, being more open. And despite being extremely pessimistic,he was ready to put her ideology to the test. With a flourish of nerves he gripped the phone and paper. Upon unlocking it he was greeted with his glorious background picture, a hilariously drunk Kate with a huge grin on her face, holding a bottle of red wine. He had immortalised the moment on his phone and adored the photo ever since. It brought a brief smile to his face, until he remembered what he was about to do.

Shutting off his brain from his own screaming discretions he thumbed Richard’s number into the phone’s contacts. He was going to message him, the thought alone filled him with dread. He couldn’t possibly call him at this hour, he wasn’t a crazy person; then again he wasn't all that certain he was the same person he was three days ago.

Steve  
Hey, it’s Steve.  
[3.01am]

The one in the suit from The Clansman. I never told you my name.  
[3.01am] 

Richard  
Oh I don’t know a Steve. But a cute small man in a suit does ring a bell  
[3.01am]

Steve had messaged him to give him a way to contact him, he didn’t expect a response so late at night. Although wasn't necessarily prepared for a conversation he bit his lip and continued.

Steve  
Genius, you’re humour is impeccable.  
[3.02am]

Plus I’m not even that short, I’m the national average.  
[3.02am] 

Richard  
So when did the national average become 5’3 you adorable little man?  
[3.02am] 

Steve  
Ha ha. I’m 5’6  
[3.03am]

Richard  
Still pretty sure that the national average isn’t 5’6 but okay  
[3.03am]

The kettle clicked, a rather appropriate distraction from the tedious conversation. He placed the phone down and tended to the bubbling liquid, pouring it into his favourite blue mug. He’d need comfort if he was going to entertain the madman over the phone. And although he was weary in the beginning as the conversation flowed Richard seemed harmless, dare say fun.

However the dark abyss behind his window, the type of pure darkness only seen in the winter months, was enough to remind him that he should be resting for work tomorrow. He gazed fondly into the dark while snuggled up on the kitchen counter. Swirling his warm cup made him think of home. All alone in Birmingham, void of his family back in south London, he unadmitanty missed the feeling of family.

The phone buzzed, startling him from his daydream.

Richard  
So what are you up to during the witching hour?  
[3.05am]

Steve  
About to go to bed. After my cup of tea.  
[3.06am]

Richard  
Aww I was hoping to keep you up till the morning ;)  
[3.06am]

Steve  
You’re not worth a good night's sleep.  
[3.07am]

Richard  
You’re mean :( Let me prove it to you  
[3.07am]

Steve  
How do you mean?  
[3.08am]

He wrote back cautiously. Although Steve was no stranger to hook ups extremely close to meeting a stranger having sex with Richard would be... different.

Richard  
How about a date ;)  
[3.08am]

Steve  
You’re assuming I’m interested.  
[3.08am] 

Steve ignored the rising excitement in his chest; he was going to act indifferent.

Richard  
If your blushing from the pub was anything to go by, then yes  
[3.09am]

Steve  
Any man in that position would be. You literally grabbed me.  
[3.09am] 

Richard  
So you’re saying that you’re not interested?  
[3.10am]

The question shook him more than it should have. For as much as he’d like to deny it, and retain the upper hand, he was in too deep for denial.

Steve  
I never said that.  
[3.10am] 

Richard  
This weekend, Saturday. I’ll take you for a night out in my part of town. You up for it Mr pocket detective?  
[3.11am] 

Steve  
My name’s Steve.  
[3.11am]

And alright, I’ll come.  
[3.11am]

Richard  
Oh I know you will ;)  
[3.12am]

Steve sat for a couple minutes, wondering if that was a euphemism.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Any feedback is greatly appreciated! Expect regular updates for this story I’m on a roll atm.


	6. Bloody Cog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some devastating news strikes Steve. And it’s rather sink or swim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry about the lack of updates for awhile. I’ve been cooking up this chapter for a while and hope large word count and juicy revelation was worth the wait.

Steve entered work the next day fatigued from an entire night of replaying romantic scenarios with Richard in his head. He hid the cringe worthy scenes in the depth of his mind, shrouded in a darkness that even he couldn’t appreciate them through. It was bizarre. The feeling of guilt, with no justifiable reason, that always hung over him. He always saw it as a mechanism that he had developed from a young age he used to make respectable life decisions; but as he matured it was slowly becoming a burden. Shaking off the imminent signs of a self hating cycle he pushed his lanyard into the scanner, and groggily joined his distracted colleagues. 

Unbeknownst to him the entire office had become occupied with an unspoken drama. People where speed walking in all directions, juggling phones and documents with a shared sense of controlled panic. He charged through the commotion in search of a reasonable human to tell him what the fuck was going on. And like a diamond in the rough Kate was sat at her desk amongst a heap of scattered sheets, with an unimpressed look on her face. “Erm,” he said placing the entirety of his weight on her desk “What’s going on?”

“A fucking lot I’ll tell you that.” She huffed, lifting her head to see the intrigued little man. “We’ve got a real shit show on our hands.” 

“Right… So are you going to tell me or?” He unintentionally snapped. He was becoming increasingly more threatened by the anonymity of the issue, he was never one for unsolved mysteries.

“That kid, Jack” She hesitantly paused. “Him and his escort team were found dead early this morning.” The words were matter of fact, their delivery shot him through the chest. 

“What? The one we interviewed yesterday? Are you sure?” He almost pleaded for it not to be true. His head roared, he wished he could slow down time, only if it meant he could process and prevent humanities bullshit. 

“Yeah, that one.” There was a disturbing mixture of guilt and disappointment in her voice. And within the space between the two, he could feel a synergy, they felt the same way. He could feel a fog of dizziness approach as his mind searched for a reason for the murder. For despite not knowing the details of the event, he had an unwavering suspicion foul play was involved. “Steve they were butchered. In the middle of transporting him to a care facility was when it happened. Ambushed with semi-automatics and some kind of flame, probably a Molotov.” She continued with a somber tone.

Steve averted his eyes from her; being a cog in a machine that malfunctioned at the cost of peoples lives enraged him. He didn’t know what to say. In fact, he didn’t have time for words, he wanted answers. He nodded at Kate before spinning on his heel towards Ted Hastings office. No more second hand information, he wanted to kill the issue from the root. 

“Steve?” She called after him in a concerned voice. She watched him walk away, she recognised that walk, she knew he couldn’t be spoken to.

Steve wanted to drink from a fountain that wasn't flavoured with incompetence for once. He was aware of how he appeared, charging head first into what his coworkers called The Lions Den, but right now he couldn’t less. 

He encroached the room and it’s four panes of glass. The transparent nature of the room ran infamous within the office. It was a bold declaration that Ted saw everything, he was omniscient within this domain. He scoffed faintly recalling the fear that people would feel, with a horrified look on their face, when Ted would send them a glare from across the glass. Steve never really let himself succumb to Ted’s domineering attitude. If he asked him to jump he would question how high, that was until the odd moralistic dilemma came into question in which it would take a hearty tranquilliser to silence Steve from debate. It was this reason why Steve and everyone else in the office saw mutual respect between the two. Maybe he liked the presence and debate of someone acting and speaking above their rank, regardless of consequences, the illusion of equality.

He bit his lip and knocked on the glass door, three knocks of urgency, he needed a response now. He shuffled himself to the right, observing the preoccupied man engrossed in a telephone conversation. Steve, without a hint of hesitation, delivered another set of knocks. He was sure if they lived in a more primal world he might have barged through the pane and choked a reaction from the man. But since he didn’t, and was dressed in a rather restrictive suit, he hung his head and waited.

“Enter” Ted exclaimed, clearly irritated by the disruption. He did so, lifting his depressed head to meet the authority’s eyes. 

“Sir,” he muzzled a surge of rage that made his vision blurry. “I’ve just been made aware about the deaths of the police officers and the protected witness.” He spoke not realising how somber his tone had become.

“Yes Steve, we are currently investigating the circumstances of the death. None of your concern for now. I have other work for you.” He said becoming increasingly disinterested with the conversation. 

“This is someone’s fault. A police officer’s one” He gripped his shirt cuffs, certain he would burst through it’s seems. “The quicker we devise a team to investigate it, the higher the chance is of us finding out who the rat is.” 

“Steve… It’s too early to jump to conclusions.” The older man grunted while rubbing his temple. 

“With all due respect Sir they were fucking burnt alive and shot by semi automatics, this wasn’t any amateur.” Steve practically shouted. The invisible stitches sealing his mouth closed had flew open. And Steve’s true thoughts had left Hastings with wide eyes. Whether it was anger or surprise that jolted them, nobody could decipher.

“Yes Steve,” he huffed “ but we must follow protocol.”

We. Must. Follow. Protocol. The same phrase he swore that he had recited to others had now came back to haunt him. He wanted to grab said protocol and shove it down the throats of the dickheads who created it. 

“Protocol Sir? You mean like taking procautions to make sure that this never fucking happened in the first place?” Steve questioned sternly. He was sure that he was overstepping his boundaries, but the restraints that held him back had dissipated. 

“Steve, you’re pushing your luck son. Get back to your assignment and when I decide your assistance is needed I will call for you.” He paused, leaving the two in a suffocating silence. “Am I understood?” He crouched further over his desk, prying Steve with a raised eyebrow. 

Steve stuttered with white knuckled fists ready to argue. But the realisation of his lack of authority hit him. He was officially wasting his time; he was just a cog in a machine after all. “Yes Sir” He sighed, with a pleading grimace in his eyes.

Before he left the room, his palm grazing the door handle, Ted tutted loudly. The sound expelled from him like a white flag of defeat. “You and Kate.” He grouched. “You two can do what you see fit. But for now I won’t be dedicating anymore officers to this.” Steve couldn’t help but smile through his stern face. The slip of permission from Ted lifted his spirits and let him leave the room with a refined sense of achievement. “Thank you Sir.” He whispered as he opened the glass door in order to face his awaiting audience , the entire office who had been watching in anticipation. 

Walking to his seat he offered an affirming smile to his gormless coworkers who had ,by no surprise, avoided completing any semblance of work. Kate was stalking him like a panther, and swiftly spun on her chair to his side. “What the fuck did you just do?” She whispered covering the two’s mouths with wide and crazy eyes. 

He laughed at her fear contorted face. “Done something unlike the rest of us.” He smiled at her, awaiting an explosive reaction. 

“What!” She whispered so loudly she may as well had shouted. “You never fail to over step your place, huh? You know if anyone else had spoken to him like that we’d be out this job with a red arse?” She recoiled in her chair with an annoyed expression souring her face. 

“Yep” He cheered, displaying his single dimple knowing it would soften her mood. And, although he was happy that he could investigate the snake who had stolen the lives of the victims, the severity of the situation arose from his gut and mellowed his smirk. 

“So? What did he say?” 

“In short, we get to investigate who the rat is. But we won’t be getting any help from other officers.” He broke the news that now, sitting among with already piling  
work, seemed a world more tiresome than before. 

“Well that’s just great. He does know I have a family at home, I’m not bleeding Wonder Woman.” She scoffed, offering a dangerous glare at Hastings office. 

A seed of guilt sprouted inside of him. He was acting completely selfish. Just because he didn’t have any other responsibilities, passions or hobbies apart from work didn’t mean that everybody else could sacrifice themselves for a case. He felt guilty that he had roped her along with his childish optimism.

“Sorry Kate…” he placed his hand on her knee, offering her a pathetic smile. “This is my fault. Which makes it my problem. I suggested we look immediately into this without thinking of the consequences. I'll deal with it.” She stared back at him, confused. 

“Shut up” She chuckled smacking his arm off her knee. “Of course I’m going to help. You Idiot.” She reassured him with a cheeky smack to his side. 

And without a hiccup the two headed to an abandoned board room, with all the note taking equipment a pair would need to crack a case. Bouncing between dilberating possible suspects and teasing each other, Steve was slowly beginning to worry that he was in fact incapable of tackling this case with just two detectives. Confirming his suspicion, when lunch time reared its ugly head the two were left staring at the mess of red strings connecting scribbled post it notes with nothing of value. 

“Jesus Steve.” She joked with a worried look, her eyes praying for a solution to reveal itself from the board. Her hunched frame warned Steve that his sidekick would need a break immediately, or she would soon melt onto the cork board. 

“Never said it would be easy.” He sighed, smiling at her, trying to retain some optimism. Steve knew that he would need to remain determined if he wanted to crack the case, for although Kate wanted to help, she just didn’t have his expendable time and energy. 

“No shit Sherlock.” She whined as she cowered toward the exit, probably desperate to reach the canteen. “Come on small guy, we need a break.” She beckoned with a tired hand. Steve wanted to go, have a laugh, destroy a sub sandwich, but not as much as he wanted justice for the boy who had entrusted the police only to be executed under their surveillance. 

He smiled, shaking his head. “I’m alright, need to tighten some loose ends here first.” He said almost apologetically. 

For a brief moment she stiffened to grapple him to the canteen, but her melatonin stoaked body flopped in favour of the exit. “Whatever you say.”

The door closed with a depressing thud. Now up to his own devices and free from distractions, he didn’t have an excuse to not work. That was, until his phone immediately buzzed. On the table glowed a notification from Richard, it pleaded for his attention. He tried to resist, but looking at the chaotic splatters of red string on the cork board frankly terrified him. And what harm could five minutes of conversation do in the grander scheme of life? 

Internally slapping himself he skipped to the phone and ashamedly opened the messages. 

Richard  
How’s my little man doing?  
[1:16pm] 

Little man! The very large window pane next to him looked like an amazing escape route from his own embarrassment, he could launch himself off it to the concrete sweet relief of the concrete seven flights below. 

Steve  
Don’t do that ever again.  
[1:16pm]

Richard  
Oooo very intimidating ;) You know how to get me all riled up  
[1:17pm]

His back shivered pictureing the tall man panting over the phone screen, hating the fact that he wished he was under him. His mind raced to graphic shots of the man mounting him, ravaging his throat with bites and marking him with bruises. His pristine shirt would be torn and strewn around the room from Richards pure brute strength and desire. 

Steve  
I’m at work, I shouldn’t be talking to you right now.  
[1:17pm]

Richard  
Ok I just wanted to know if you still wanted to go out tomorrow?  
[1:18pm]

Steve  
Yeah, unless something comes up.  
[1:18pm]

Richard  
You wouldn’t deprive me of the pleasure would you!?  
[1.18pm] 

Steve  
I definitely would.  
[1.19pm]

Richard  
You’d ruin my entire week! No month! Or even life!  
[1:19pm]

Steve  
I’m joking. I’ll come with you.  
[1:20pm]

Richard  
I can’t wait. We’re gonna have a riot ;)  
[1:21pm]

Snapping from Richards devious grasp he closed his phone and slid it into his trouser pocket, intent on returning to work. He gulped and observed the corkboard again. He scanned the notes that he and Kate made, they mainly comprised of security guard names along with the time they surveyed Jack’s home. He had hoped that by collecting all of the shifts he could see if there were any irregularities with one of the guards , and maybe they had pried Jack’s moving schedule from him. But there the times where, all of it laid out clearly in front of him, and everyone was on schedule and everything was properly documented. The board loomed over him, taunting him with stacks upon stacks of information. And even with all of it, Steve still couldn’t find anything out of place.

It was hopeless, what he had wasn't enough. He needed a tip-off, a crumb of bread that would lead him to the pretty cottage of the perportaitor. A sweet sense of relief swept over him when two knocks at the door gave him an escape from the cork board. 

“Hey Steve, did the security roster offer any help?” Asked the cheery receptionist who had helpfully offered it to him when he pestered the desk. She crept into the room with an energy that polarised him. 

“Yeah, thank you.” He chuckled. It was a complete lie, all it had done for him was wave a reality check in front of him, and signaled the painful road ahead. He wished it would be enough, yet here he was, nowhere closer to the truth. 

His pocket vibrated, no doubt it was Richard. He scanned the cork board again. Richard was nowhere to be seen, they must have left him out? The creek of the door jolted him to action. “Hey, I’m sure it’s not your fault. But the councillor isn’t listed on the schedule.”

She stopped in the middle of the doorframe. “Counsellor?” She paused intensely scanning her memory. “No... there was no counsellor present that day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOO spooky. Get ready for the next Chapter!


End file.
